“This istheevent—not just in the city, in the country—shoot, in the world! There are billionaires flying in from Europe.”
“I wasn’t actually planning on going…”
“We have one shot to make a good impression.” She grabs my arm. “Especially if I have to be a bridesmaid for Loony Laura. Now, they won’t let you in with Crocsand unwashed hair,” Carolina says flatly. “Please, go take a shower. And shave!” she calls as I stomp upstairs.
My office has been turned into a salon. I sneeze, padding in after my shower, nose to my phone, managing the various online dates I’m setting up as backup plans for Operation Remove Family from Dream Home.
I freeze. The makeup artists and hairstylists coo over Kathy’s perfect ballerina body and her pretty face, telling her that she looks like a model, like a fairy, how pretty she is. And she is. My little sister is ethereal—that natural, innocent girl-next-door beauty that still shines through even though we’re both well into our thirties.
I will never be as pretty as that, no matter how hard I work. As always, it’s a punch in the ever-expanding gut.
This is a good thing, I remind myself firmly.This means a man at the party is going to see her, fall in love, and whisk her and my family off to Monaco.
“What do you think, the black dress or the blue?” the stylist asks me.
“Or should I wear the green?” Kathy gushes to me, holding it up. “And this jewelry.” She admires herself in the mirror. “So shiny!”
“This is rented. We are renting this. If you want your own jewelry, you need to dig deep, work hard at the cocktail party,” I remind Kathy. “Make one of those rich guys fall in love with you.”
The makeup artist uses a sponge to meticulously dab at the corner of Kathy’s eye. “Oh, they are going to fall for her as soon as she walks in,” the stylist gushes. “And it has to be the blue with those eyes.”
“Don’t worry, Winn. I bought you a dress.” Gran holds up a firetruck-red halter-top dress.
“No, Gran. I can’t wear a bra with that. I don’t go outside without a bra.”
“Braless is in right now,” Carolina urges.
The boutique consultant who brought all the dresses and accessories for Kathy sniffs. “Your sister’s wearing a dress with no bra.”
“Yes, but her boobs are stuffed with plastic. Mine are stuffed with doughnuts and pasta, and they sag. Besides, it’s Seattle, Gran. No one wears red here. Neutral tones only. I’m wearing my gray dress.”
“You can’t fit in the dress. You haven’t worn it in years…” Carolina grimaces.
“I’ll squeeze. I have that shapewear,” I tell her flatly. “I cannot fit in that dress.” I point.
“Stretchy material.” Gran waves the red dress at me. “I have those fancy adhesive bras. It’s a new product. A gal in my knitting circle sells them.”
“You’ve got a new knitting circle?” The eye twitching is back. They’re all setting down roots. Even as we speak, my mom is out in my overgrown backyard, directing my dad to dig up planting beds because she wants to plant tomatoes this summer.
“We watch porn and knit male genitalia of different shapes and sizes. They fetch a high price on the interwebs. By the by”—she leans in conspiratorially—“how do you get one of them tickets? Norma Jean and I are looking for a rich man.”
“I think they want younger women, Gran.” I sigh as she peels the sticky tape off the silicone.
“Girls in your generation give up too easily. You have to hunt a rich man down like the last woolly mammoth on the tundra. Now, hold ’em up, Carolina,”Gran directs.
“We are way too close,” I complain.
“Desperate times.”
I yelp as Gran slaps the sticky adhesive on my boob. “That hurts!”
“I told you to shave.”
“Well, all that hair on her nips is coming out when you take those off, so you’re getting waxed one way or another.” Carolina yanks down my underwear.
“No, no, no. I’m not going commando.” I yank them up.
“Damn right you’re not, with that overgrown vacant lot you’ve got down there.” Gran snaps the band of my underwear.
